The Moors and the Mountains

“How lonesome! how wild! yet the wildness is rife With the stir of enjoyment, the spirit of life. The glad fish leaps up in the heart of the lake, Whose depths at the sullen plunge sullenly quake. Elate on the fern-branch the grasshopper sings, And away in the midst of his roundelay sprLugs;... While high up the mountains, in silence remote, The cuckoo unseen is repeating his note, And mellowing echo, on watch in the skies, Like a voice from some loftier climate replies.”

—Jo n Wilson.

“Entered Fox How and the birch copse at 9.25, and here ends journal. We found all our dear children well, and Fox How in such beauty, that no scene in Italy appeared in my eyes comparable to it.” — Dr Arnold.

Those who are called practical people enjoy many advantages over such of their fellows as are afflicted with keen sensibilities, and not the least advantage is the ease with which they set out on their travels. They are troubled with no qualms at parting; in long letters homeward they waste none of the hours sacred to slumber; and having slipped the collar before starting, they drag no load of ever-lengthening chain. On Friday night a practical man announces that he has made his arrangements for a six- weeks furlough; orders breakfast at a quarter to eight next morning, packs his portmanteau, replenishes his flask of eau de vie, and after a general “Good-bye,” jumps into the Hansom bound for London Bridge or Euston Square. Perhaps a tear stood in some one’s eye as l.e shouted “All right;” but then wives and sisters have a way of shedding tears, and they could never dream of sharing the trip; for, to say nothing of the expense, it is their business to be “keepers at home.” So making up his mind that they will all, as in duty bound, keep well and happy until his return, he hies forth on his own holiday, a light-armed traveller, with little luggage and no care, as buoyant as a lark, as merry as a sailor.

But to this self-contained compactness Mr Wilson was a stranger. The best of his life was that which he lived in others, and to him it was hardly a holiday unless his home went with him. Besides, bravely as she bore up, he could not forget that his wife was a frequent invalid; and whenever he went forth on any journey he carried with him the anxious forebodings which a busy imagination is sure to suggest to a fond affection. It was, therefore, very seldom that he could be persuaded to join those more distant expeditions which separated him from the domestic circle. However fascinating to the angler and the enthusiastic lover of nature might be the prosj)ect of new landscapes and noble rivers, it could not tempt the husband and the father.

Nevertheless, in three successive summers he was induced to accompany Professor Graham and his botanising companions in their excursions to the mountains of Forfarshire and Sutherland. In the wilder regions the accommodation was sometimes of the most ]3rimitive description, and a party of twenty pedestrians would sleep in a hay-loft, or on the floor of the one spare room in a little public-house, or even in a mountain shielling without glass to the windows. On more than one occasion they were accompanied by a naval officer whose feats of snoring Mr Wilson used merrily to describe as something prodigious. The first night he kept the whole party awake listening to his astounding performances. The second night he was voted into a separate room, along with a deaf old gardener who was proof against ordinary noises. In the morning his room-mate was asked how he had slept.” I never slept a wink. He gart the very bed dirl under him/* At last it became needful to extort a solemn pledge that, by way of giving all his neighbours a chance, the gallant captain would not lay his head on the pillow till quarter an hour after his comrades — a pledge which he kept with gay good humour, sitting up, stop-watch in hand, till the company had a fair start of fifteen minutes; but woe betide the luckless wretch who could not gain the arms of Morpheus before Triton sounded his trumpet.

In those excursions he had many delightful associates, and there he commenced a life-long acquaintance with Professor Balfour, with the late Martin Barry, one of the manliest of Quakers and most endearing of men,^ and with the highly-gifted Edward Forbes. Speaking of the

* That is, the diapason made the very bed-stead tingle.

+ Dr Martin Barry pub.ished in the Edinburgh Philosophical Journal (new series., vol. xviii. p. 100) an ascent of Mont Blanc which he accomplished Sept. 18, 1834, when such an exploit was not the occurrence of every Geason. He was the twentieth individual and the twelfth Englishman who succeeded in reaching the summit.

Sutherland tour of 1 833, our friend Mr James Macaulay tells us: — “The two who had greatest similarity and sympathy of pursuits were Mr Wilson and Dr Greville, both keen anglers and entomologists. There were two or three others who combined sport with zoology. In the evenings all used to meet at an appointed rendezvous, and, at the pleasant gathering round the table, James Wilson was the life of the party. He was a great favourite with the young students, to whom he was always ready to give information and advice in those branches of natural history, with which the chief, Professor Graham, a man of like geniality and disposition, was less familiar. There never was a man in whom humour and good sense, cheerfulness and gravity, were blended in happier proportions.”

The first of the following letters to Mrs Wilson is from Clova, Forfarshire, Aug. 5, 1831.

“I know, my dear love, that you will be anxious to receive a line or two from your husband, the more especially as that husband was not cpiite in his usual condition when he departed most unwillingly from his own beloved roof. I much fear, from what I hear of the state of roads and letter-carriers in this part of the world, that these lines will be longer than I desire of meeting your eyes; and this consideration is the source of some uneasi-HEY-DAYS AND (k)NIGHTS OF STEAW. 143

ness to myself at present, -when I sinfully incline to view everything in its most comfortless light. However, I trust you are bearing in mind what I said on my departure, and are not so uneasy as you would otherwise have been. Did my opportunities correspond with my heart’s desire, no hour would pass without a communication; for I can safely say that scarcely a waking moment has been spent otherwise than in thinking of those I have left

behind

“We breakfasted at Cupar on beef-steaks and salmon, and reached Forfar about three o’clock. There we hired a cart for our knapsacks, and also bought thirty or forty threepenny loaves and a round of cold beef, and started on foot for this little hamlet, which is situated in a wild, secluded valley, through the centre of which flows the South Esk. At Forfar we had previously regaled ourselves on cheese and bread, and ale; and, in the course of our pedestrian progress, in the evening we got bannocks and milk in a cottage by the road-side. It was past ten before we got to Clova, where we regaled ourselves on tea and bread, and went to bed thereafter. The bed for the greater part of the party consisted of a layer of hay upon the floor, with a blanket or two over the top of it. I was voted into one of the two beds, properly so called, out of respect, I suppose, to my years and reverend character; and although I resisted this indulgence for some time, I was forced to submit to the kindness of my fellow-travellers. My chief pleasure in so doing arises from knowing that you would feel pleasure from knowing that I was comfortable, or rather from being told that I had been so. I was much refre lied by a sound sleep, and awoke about a quarter past six with the unaccustomed feeling that I had got enough. My neighbours were by this time stirring in the adjoining room; so I got up, and we breakfasted a little after seven. Most of the party started for the hills to collect their plants, and I took my rod and fished up the river about three miles and back again, and killed five dozen of trouts. Two others who also tried anfflina; killed three dozen between them; so we had a pleasant addition to our dinner. I returned to the house in good time; but it was towards seven before the botanists descended from the mountains. They got many rare and curious plants, the arrangement and pressure of which presented a busy candle-light scene for some hours in the evening.

“God bless my darling children. I hope and pray that they are well. I shall be at the Castletown of Braemar early on Wednesday; and I hope my Monday letter may reach me then. I think I begin to derive benefit from the fresh air and exercise; but my disease still hangs about me in regard to miserable apprehensions, which the goodness of God will, I trust, ere long shew to be unfounded.

I feel the wickedness of such feelings, surrounded as I am by so many of the glories of Omnipotent Wisdom, and reading, as I do daily, that “He will never leave nor forsake us;” but still I cannot help thinking every moment that I left you not quite well, and that you may be worse. We arc preparing for a very early bed, and as soon as the ‘things’ are taken away, the hay will be spread upon the floor. Kiss my children for me, my dearest; and think night and day with affection of your unaltered and unalterable friend and husband, now and ever,

“James Wilson.”

On his way to the Clova rendezvous next year (1832), he paid a visit to a noted insect-collector, Mr Mylne, of Johnshaven.

“Brechix, 1st August 1S32.

“After breakfast, I despatched my card to Mr Mylne, requesting to know if I might wait on him that morning. I received a written reply, begging me to come when convenient; so down I goes to the house. Johnshaven is a sort of small Stonehaven. It lies along the shore, and has a few decent-looking houses, built of dark gray stone, intermixed with small shops and the huts of the fishermen. In one of the better houses I found Mr Mylne — an old man, rather frail, with gray hair, a long pale face, lank wrists, and red eyes, — very like what I shall be myself when approaching my eightieth year. He received me very kindly, introduced me to his sister, Mrs Gregory, an old woman of the stocking-knitting kind, with a pair of spectacles; and a niece, whose name was Catherine. We commenced our entomological studies instanter, the niece handing out drawer after drawer from the side cabinets, and placing them on the table in front. The collection is very line, and consists of all the orders. My impression was that he was rich chiefly in Lepidoptera; but the Coleoptera are also very numerous and valuable. The specimens are almost all lery perfect; but they are, in a good many instances, obscured by a whitish mould, from not having been often enough aired. Mrs Gregory wanted to wash them with soap and water; but the old gentleman would not ’ hear of it.’ We took from about half-past ten till three merely in giving a cursory glance. There are, I think, about one hundred and sixty drawers. They requested me to stay dinner, which I did. By five I was on my legs again, and off on foot to Brechin. At the inn I had a tender parting with the fat landlady. During my absence she had been reading, or trying to read, Keble’s

‘Christian Year,’ and had discovered M ’s sweet lock

of hair. I told her its history in such a way as to bring tears to the good woman’s eyes; and, that she might continue speaking about the ’ dailin’ wee crater,’ as she called our lassie, she accompanied me through the village, and up the brow of the hill, as far as the public road. We there shook hands, and parted. I now retraced my steps a few miles on the Montrose road, and then, by means of that fine local instinct for which I am remarkable, I crossed the country to the right hand, by Langley Park, the manse of Dim, &c., and arrived here about ten o’clock last night, after a pleasant tramp of about sixteen miles. I now intend treating myself to a gig to Cortachy, after which I shall have only eight miles to walk. In a few hours, therefore, I hope to be in the arms of Graham and Greville. I was in the King’s Arms all last night. N( m, my dearest, I hope and pray that this will find you well. I assure you that I am so, and quite comfortable, mind and body. God bless you. — Ever, &c. “P.S. — Remember to take in the mouse.”

“Clova, Friday evening.” I wrote you a few lines from Brechin, after which I embarked on board my gig, from which I dismounted at Cortachy. I had not walked fifty yards before I overtook the son of our Clova landlord in a cart. I remembered his phiz from last year, and after we had interchanged greetings by means of broad grins, I favoured him with my rod and fishing basket, which greatly lightened my own load. I had then a cool pleasant walk to Clova, where I found the party at dinner and tea conjoined. I was welcomed very heartily, — Graham, Greville, and the young American, Green, being the only individuals I had previously seen of the party. The rest are students, sixteen or seventeen in all, ourself included.

“The day after I arrived we went up to the head of this valley, as far as Loch Esk, where several botanised, and a few fished. The day was too calm for the latter exercise, and we had no greal sport; but I had the satisfaction of being the victor by about twice the number of the others. We had milk and water, with do. and whisky, at a little forlorn and romantic shooting-hut of Sir John Ogi Ivy’s, about a thousand miles up in the air. We had also Sandwich Islands in our pockets. I have already been fortunate in getting some good insects; among others, four fine specimens of Cardbus glabratus, a- large beetle which you will find among my carabi with broken elytra.

“To-day I fished in Loch Brandy, one of my haunts of last year. We had no great sport. I called two dozen

and two, Greville nineteen, T. W thirteen. I can

scarcely believe that I have been here only two days — such a bustle and botanising. But oh! the snoring and snorting that take place at night. Drs Graham, Greville, Wight, Green, and myself, sleep quietly in one room, part of us in two beds, and the rest upon the floor. In the other room the scene is extraordinary, for there the floor is covered from end to end with students in different states of graduation. This season we have plenty of prog. We breakfast about seven. Various parties start in various directions, each furnished with a pocket-companion to sustain life. Some return at five, some at seven, and some not till nine. The butcher-meat is mostly cold, except the potatoes and fish, so that a few minutes are enough to prepare the meal of each squadron as it arrives. They have got some fine plants, greatly to my inconvenience as a scribe, for the long table is covered with their collections, and there is little or no elbow-room.

“Remember me to the darlings, and tell J about

C. glabratus on the tops of the high hills. There are millions of moths upon the moors, and beetles under every stone. I will shew him my collection whenever I get home, and give him some to himself.”

“Manse of Rlair-Atiiol,
12th August 1832.

“We arrived here last night, after a stout walk of upwards of thirty miles across the mountains from Braemar to the head of Glen Tilt, and so down the valley to this snug dwelling, where we have been received with great k’ndness, and enjoy every comfort — except, ‘Home, sweet home!1 the delights of winch, though sung in the hackneyed strains of dirty boys and blackguard ballad-mongers, are at this moment to me the most inspiring and the most refreshing subjects of reflection. Many a time have I looked at the lassie’s lock of golden hair; many a time, on the barren summits of the everlasting hills, have I hung over it and prayed that the sweet head from which it was severed might be protected from evil. When the sun rose and scattered the mountain vapours, which in our Alpine habitations sometimes lay low beneath our feet, I thought how the sweet summits of Blackford would be also brightened by his beams; and when the golden splendour of the west, with its magnificent array of purple mountains, the ‘dark Loch-na-gar’ and the giant peaks of the Cairngorm range, betokened the decline of day, I thought of the reflected light of our own quiet Pentlands, ami how mamma might be sitting at her own sweet window, thinking, perhaps, of her husband who never ceases to think of and to pray for her. Although I should have been truly grateful to have found on my a nival here that my dearest had been keeping well, I had yet so far made up my mind to the probability of hearing the reverse; and although I was disappointed after all, I fervently hope by this time that the enemy is gone.”

STEWARTFIELD. 15]

“StewautfielDj IGth August 1832. “When I was taking my saunter before breakfast among the clew-besprinkled larches of this sweet solitude, the flunkey came down upon me from the house with your most welcome epistle. It refreshes my heart’s core to hear such good accounts of your health, and it is my morning, and evening, and mid-day prayer that the same delightful state should continue. I have to thank you for such long and particular accounts, and I will not at present quarrel with your anxieties on my account; although 1 was in hopes, from what I had said as to the frequent intervals which must elapse between my letters, you would have made up your mind to what was unavoidable. Even during what has certainly been a period of enjoyment, I have often wished that I had wings that I might flee away to my much-loved home, and be at rest in the society of those who are now dearer to me than all the world besides. But I knew that you dwelt under the shadow of those Almighty wings which encompass the world, and I felt satisfied that no plague would come nigh your dwelling. I am, indeed, most thankful that you now enjoy your sweet home. I had previously rejoiced in your last letter addressed to Blair- Athol, and yesterday morning Dr Greville and myself, with elastic heels and light hearts, bade adieu to our kind friends at the manse, and walked down the country through the

Pass of Killiecrankie to Stewartfield, — a walk for picturesque beauty unsurpassed by almost anything I have ever seen. I wish I could picture the gray crags, the weeping birches, the open glades, the windings of the crystal river, and over all the summits of the granite mountains, with their dark ravines and blooming heather, and I would send you such a panorama as eye never saw. Hundreds of times, every few miles, did I wish you by my side; and I sometimes felt inclined to shut my eyes upon the most beautiful scenes, from a feeling of its being selfish to behold the face of nature under so fair an aspect when my beloved wife was, perhaps, even then shut up in the dim seclusion of a sick-chamber.

“Unluckily, we have never had a regular rainy day for journalising; and as my time here is so short, I feel assured you will prefer my looking about me, that I may have it in my power to tell you what is to be sesn, rather than that I should sit down to write you about what I have yet scarcely seen, viz., the beauties of Stewartfield. It is really a delightful and romantic spot — a sort of little Elleray on the hill-top, with higher hills behind, and well screened with wood.

“The minister’s family at Blair were extremely kind. AY hen I mentioned our intention of staying here for a day, the conversation branched towards the inhabitants of Stewartfield; and when Mrs Stewart said, ‘Can you tell

A good man’s depasture. 153

me, Mr Wilson, what has become of a Miss Isabella Keith that I remember about Edinburgh?’ I could only answer, drill/, as they say in the play, that if she meant my wife, she was still a respectable sort of a woman, and, at the present time, in better health than usual. I was sorry afterwards that I had not humoured the joke by saying that you had got into a sad scrape some years ago by marrying a ne’er-do-weel of the name of Wilson, and that neither of them had ever been heard of since. As it was, however, the question and answer led to some amusement among us.

“I have gone thus far, my dearest, without alluding to that most affecting and afflicting intelligence conveyed in your letter — the death of that beneficent Christian and kind-hearted man, George White. Like many other mysterious dispensations, it is difficult to realise; but, alas! it is true. The happy believer is at rest for ever. As to his family, humanly speaking, the loss is irreparable; but He who pours His blessl balm into the widow’s soul, till her heart does sing for joy, will be their stay in this their hour of desolation; and we know that the children of a righteous man are not seen ’ begging bread.’”

The next letter, in a clear and careful hand, is to his little daughter: —” Dollar, Monday night, 20th August 1832.

“My deae, sweet Lassie, — I wish to tell you a secret, which I hope will make you very glad — -I expect to be home on Wednesday evening to my own Woodville. Don’t tell this to Mamma, Henny, or Johnny, but just make them guess. You must all sit up to supper that night, if mamma is well; and we will all be so happy. I have been a long time away from home, and will be real glad to get back. I hope you Lave both been good children, and I expect to find you improved in your reading, writing, and spelling. I have got a great many beetles and a good many butterflies. Perhaps you have seen the beetles, as they went home with Uncle Greville, who promised to call very soon at Woodville, to tell mamma about papa. I have also several large living caterpillars, but some of them have died. I forgot to tell mamma to put the grass with the glow-worms’ eggs upon it into the park, that the young ones might thrive better when they were hatched. I was much obliged to you for your little letter. If I am away next year, you will be able to write to me a long, lmig letter yourself, and tell me all that is going on. You are now growing an old bit creature, and will soon be very useful to papa and mamma; and when Johnny goes to school, you will rise early in the morning, and see that his little breakfast is laid out neat and comfortably; and you will be very kind to one another, for God loves children who dwell together in unity. I have often prayed for you all when I was far away; and when I saw the beautiful moon shining upon the still waters — when I was all alone among the green hills — I used to think that perhaps, at that very moment, you were praying to God to keep your papa in safety; and 1’ blessed God for giving me good children, and for giving them a mamma who taught them to love their God and their Saviour. I am very thankful to hear that your dear mamma has now been so well for a pretty long time; and I hope we will soon be all working in the garden merrily together. Have you any gooseberries left? I have scarcely eaten one this year, for they do not grow upon the hills, where I have mostly been. Give my love to mamma; and tell her that, although I intend to be home on Wednesday, she must not be at all uneasy if I don’t come; because I am not quite sure if there will be a boat from Alloa on that day. Now, my sweet pet, I will not write any more. God bless you. Remember me to everybody at Woodville; and believe me, now and ever, you affectionate papa,

“James Wilson.”

Of an expedition to Sutherland, in 1833, we shall content ourselves with two brief memorials: —

“Ixchnadamff, Assynt, 6th August 1833.

“I think I told you in my last, that we crossed the country from the Bay of Cromarty to the Dornoch Firth the day after the Duke [of Sutherland] was buried at Dornoch. An old lady told us, ‘He was just deein’ when they tuik him awa’ frae England; but it was nat’rel: it wad gie him pleeshur to be puried in the Hielands.’ We found the sky as bright and the waters of the frith as sparkling as if no duke had died. When we were entering a narrow defile, with gray crags on one side, a brawling brook below, and. on the opposite side a fine old fir wood, we saw, moving over the tops of the rocks, some black creatures or substances, which we took at first to be crows. A few moments dispelled the illusion, and, with its cross-bones and skulls, its sand-glasses and waving plumes, came rattling down the road the ’ narrow house ’ which had recently conveyed the mortal remains of him to whom the entire county had belonged. It seemed full of packing boxes, &c, and the coachman appeared to be a little whiskified.

“As the whole population, to the amount of nine or ten thousand, had been out to see the sight, we found that the eatables in some places had suffered severely from the inroads of these barbarian clans. When we arrived at Bonar Bridge, we found Greville and Barry awaiting us. They had arrived at Tain the day before; and, expecting us to join them there, they ordered dinner for twenty people, which dinner was to take place in the ball-room

However, as our steam-boat was far too late to admit of working our way on Wednesday night to Tain, the pair were disappointed of our company; and, after waiting till nine o’clock, they — the doctor and the Quaker — sat down to dinner by themselves. How they would pick and choose out of such an enormous supply! I believe they had to compound next day for the landlord’s extensive preparations,”

“Lairg, on Loch Shin, l&th August 1833.....” After passing Loch Eribol (why don’t you look at the map?), we came upon the lower end of Loch Hope, where there is a river of the same name, which you cross by a chain boat. The fare is a half-penny. There were at this time three of us, Dr Greville, Captain Graham, and myself — the rest having gone up towards their night’s quarters by another route to the head of the loch. I gave the woman who ferried us sixpence, which made her press us to enter the ferry-house and take a drink of milk. This we did, paying for the same. Half an hour before, we met a doctor, galloping to see a dead man. We stopped him, partly that the man might have some chance of recovering, and partly to inquire about the fishing. He declared it was excellent in the river Hope, of which the course is extremely short, being only about a mile before it joins the saline water of Loch Eribol. This being confirmed by the ferry-woman, we remained for some hour?, and had excellent sport. We then proceeded about nine miles into the interior, by the side of the lake as Ion:? as it lasted, and up a lonely valley for two miles more, when it was done.

“A small hut, called Cashel Dim, was to be our place of rendezvous, and there we joined the rest of the party to a candle-light dinner, consisting of excellent mutton from Mrs Scobie’s, portable soup, trouts, and potatoes. In the course of the evening, Mr John Scobie, who had been from home during our visit, burst in upon us, like a kilted Mercury in full Highland cost nine. He is a livery, kind-hearted, strong-built Highlander, and expressed great regret at what he called our speedy departure. He was for returning home again that night, which was, in fact, equivalent to sleeping in the moor; but we insisted that he should share our hay. We had here only one small room for the whole party, and so, learning from Barry that in the earlier part of the day had botanised up the valley, and passed a shepherd’s hut, where he was told he might stay all night, we thought it advisable to divide a little, as there was literally not room for us all upon the floor. Therefore Barry and myself, with Captain Graham and the kilted Scobie, though we had all had a hard day’s wrork, set off in the dark towards twelve o’clock, in search of a roosting place. After a few miles we came to the shep-HIGHLAND HOSriTALITY. 159

herd’s hut, at which we knocked, and knocked, and knocked again; but the only answer we met for long was the violent barking of a band of collies in the interior. At last a feeble and querulous grumbling was heard, as if from under a heap of clothes. We could make nothing of it for a considerable time, and so continued our knocking at door and windows. We finally made out that the muffled murmurings were intended to warn us off — that everybody should be in bed by that time of night — and that we must make the best of our way back to Cashel Dim. In vain we entreated, and expostulated, and explained; in vain did Mr John Scobie menace them with ducal wrath, alternately in Gaelic and ‘the English tongue;’ still more in vain did the gentler Barry ‘thee’ and ‘thou’ through the key-hole or the broken lozen. ‘Thou didst willingly promise me a night’s lodging when I passed thy dwelling in the daytime. Surely thou wouldst not refuse us the cover of thy roof, and the use of thy hay. Thou oughtest not to have promised, if thou intendedst not to fulfil. Thou hast deceived us, and now we know not what to do.’ I was certain from the first, from the tone of her voice, that she would not yield, and advised the party to be off, though I could not exactly advise them in what direction to turn their steps. “We were about to go back to Cashel Dim, when Mr Scobie proposed we should venture a few miles more up the valley, as he was ’ pretty sure’ there was a hut somewhere on the other side of the river. Though angry at the caprice and selfishness of the woman who had turned us away (the man never spoke, and was supposed not to be at home, though I doubt not he was lying ensconced on the other side of his cruel rib), we were in good humour with ourselves, and there was at least the chance of novelty in the adventure. It was now nearly one in the morning, fair, but dark. We passed the ruins of an old Pictish tower, seen dimly shadowed on the sky. The mountains were closing darkly around us as we approached the head of the vale, and the river, ’ hurried precipitous from steep to steep, foamed along the side of our path, or gushed in long, deep, gloomy pools, not easily distinguished from the sombre bank on which we travelled. But the brave Highlander led the way with a light elastic step, and led us as securely as if our road had been the aisle of a church. At last he suid, ‘We must cross here,’ and immediately stepped into the brawling stream. This would have been no joke nearer home, and I once or twice thought I felt Isabella pulling my coat-tails; but as for Scobie, he had no tails to pull, so in he plunged deeper and deeper still. From constant fishing, Captain Graham and myself were very sure of foot ii] ion the slippery stones, and firm of limb to withstand the downward sweeping of the torrent. But, alas! for Barry and his breadth of brim. ‘Friend, art thou assured of the way? This now seemeth to me rather a perilous passage. Thinkest thou we had not best return?’ But

Scobie’s bare knees were now beginning to emerge from

the flood, and in a few .seconds more three of us stood upon

the further bank, while Barry, making a few desperate

plunges, also gained a firmer footing in more shallow

water, and was soon landed in safety. Well, it was now

two in the morning, and we were still doubtful where to

turn. But Scobie, after snuffing about for a few minutes

like a pointer, seemed to ascertain some landmarks, and

starting across the heath, he led us in another quarter of

an hour to a hut about the size of a pea-stack. All was

solemn and silent for a time, till Ave groped out the door.

He gave a tap, and was answered in Gaelic. He appeared

to give a short statement of our case and condition,

and, from a few interjectional ‘Oich, oich’s!’ from within, I

judged that the heart of woman was at last subdued.

Suffice to say that we were admitted. We found a lone

woman, a girly of about ten, and a litter of younger children.

We had no candle, but the woman soon blew up the embers

of a peat fire, which occupied the centre of the room, and

then ever and anon lighting small lath-like jneces of some

resinous wood, she threw a bright glare over the strange,

incongruous group by which she was surrounded. There

Was the martial Highlander, with his rosy limbs fresh from

the crystal stream, standing erect with his plumed bonnet

on his head, and one of the lighted sticks between his fingers. There was also the Quaker, with his translucent eye, his figure leaning forward on his staff, with an appearance of fatigue combined with a deep interest in the scene, his moist garments clinging closely to his weary and well-watered limbs. Captain Graham had in the meantime sat down on the floor, on the lid of an old herring-barrel, his face beaming with smiles, and reflecting every ray of light from its broad and happy surface. I was standing myself in the background, scratching the nose of a collie, and watching the wreaths of smoke as they made their way through two large holes ill the roof, amid rafters black as ebony, and shining as if varnished. We got in hay from the barn, and stretched ourselves around the fire, till daylight dawned clown the chimney. I must stop, for my candle is going out.”

The short excursions of those three summers were followed, in 1834, by an elaborate exploration of the county of Sutherland. In this expedition the botanist and draughtsman was Dr Greville; and the different branches of zoology were looked after by Sir “William Jardine, Mr Selby, Mr John Jardine, and Mr Wilson. A conveyance was provided suitable to such a “land of mountain and flood,” — a boat upon wheels, which could be used as a carriage on terra jirma, and which, when occasion required, could take to the water. When the time for setting out drew near, Mr Wilson’s spirits sank at the prospect of so long an absence; but, rather than disorganise the party, he placed his own feelings in abeyance; and not only did he contrive to enjoy the tour himself, but lie contributed greatly to the enjoyment of his brother savans. The survey of the county was rich in scientific results, and threw much light on the birds, fishes, insects, and plants of a region till then very imperfectly explored.*

“Inverness, Wednesday morning,
28th May 1834.

“I know that you will rejoice to hear that, after a

delightful drive by Dunkeld and Killiecrankie, we arrived

here safe and sound last night at half-past ten. We were

by that time somewhat tired, and not a little dirty; for

the day being bright and dry, was likewise dusty; and as

we had left Perth at five in the morning (when and where

I met your nephew, Colonel Murray) we were well worn

out by the afternoon. I found the party waiting my

arrival at Perth, and all in great glee and good humour

except myself, and I was not rale bad, though there was

still a bit of lead about my heart, part of which (I think

■•’ Its entomological results were published by Mr Wilson in two papers, one in the Entomological Magazine, vol. iv., the other in the Edinburgh New Philosophical Journal, vol. xix. In the twentieth vol. of the last named periodical, there are papers on the Quadrupeds and Birds of Sutherlandshire, by Mr Selby, and in the eighteenth vol. a dissertation on its Salmbnidcc, by Sir W. Jardine.

I was wounded in the Peninsula) will probably remain till the end of my pilgrimage. After some supper, we went to bed, I hope thankful for our mercies, which are great, and, though not unacknowledged, yet seldom felt as they ever ought to be.

‘•’Our yesterday’s ride passes description; so I will let it pass, merely remarking what you may have elsewhere noticed, but which I never saw more magnificently exemplified than amid the wooded theatre of Killiecrankie, that the fresh and verdurous foliage of the bursting spring is preferable in such a scene to the matured and atmosl arid leafery of summer. Here and there a group of shy and reluctant-looking ash-trees shewed us that something was yet to come; but the oaks, birches, and sycamores were all beautiful exceedingly. We supped on our arrival at Inverness, after ploutering up stairs, and sweeping the dust out of our eyes, and blowing it out of our n< ises with a pair of bellows. We find they do for that purpose far better than pocket-handkerchiefs, and one pair is enough for the whole party.

“We have been very busy all morning getting our horses and tackle fitted to each other. We have got a stout pair of beasts for about thirty pounds; and as we shall only lose a few pounds in selling them afterwards, we expect this plan will be cheaper than hiring — especially as we shall feed them in Sutherland chiefly at

BOAT-CAKRIAGE. 1 Go

the Duchess-Countess’s expense. We are just about to start for Invergordon, with our own horses and a stage-coach attached to them. At Invergordon we shall substitute our boat-carriage for the said stage, and proceed to-morrow to Bonar Bridge. I do not expect to get there till after the post has passed; and as he does not pass every day. don’t be alarmed. Remember, my comfort depends a great deal upon your not being nervous on my account. You may rely upon my writing often, and sending my letters by every opportunity. The weather is delightful,”

“Lafrg, by Golspie,
31s< May 1834.

“Here we are, arrived at the scene of action, and just about to commence business. I wrote from Inverness on Wednesday, on the afternoon of which day we set out for Invergordon, in a stage-coach lent us for the purpose by the innkeeper, and drawn by the nags which we had purchased in the morning. They seem to be turning out remarkably well, being sure, sound, and steady, though not very swift. We had two ferries to cross before reaching Invergordon, and the beasts jumped into the boats like, sea-horses. Indeed, my own belief is that they have web-feet. We arrived at the last-named place just before dark, and found our boat and carriage waiting us, and all in good order after its voyage from Newhaven. After a good sleep and no snoring, we took breakfast and departed for Tain. We found that the boat travelled upon its wheels very smoothly. As the day was fine, we did not mount, but followed it to Tain, collecting insects, &c, by the road. In a small marsh we got a great many Elaphri, DonacioB, &c, and particularly Bleihisa multipunctata, a fine insect resembling a very large Elaphrus. In a wood we took the small green under-wing butterfly (Thecla rubi), which I had never before seen alive; a very fine bright long-shaped Coccinetta, and a Galeruca not in my collection. We dined at Tain, which is on the Dornoch Frith, and in the cool of the afternoon proceeded to Bonar Bridge. The scenery along the shore upwards was very beautiful, particularly just after sunset, for before that time, as we were walking in a westerly direction, the glare of light upon the water was rather bright and dazzled our een as we tried to gaze upon the wooded promontories in advance, or the snow-spotted peaks of the far-mountains. But as soon as the sun was down we enjoyed the fine amphitheatre of western hills, and the beautiful glimpses, neither few nor far between, of the Dornoch Frith, as we looked down upon it through the old pine woods through which our path conducted us to Bonar Bridge. We got on twenty-six miles that day, which was a fair trial both for man and beast. ....

cuckoos. 167

“We made only thirteen miles yesterday, from Bonar Bridge to Lairg. We fished up the river Shin on our way. J. Jardiue and I each killed a arilse in addition to our t routs; the rest of the party only caught the last named fishes. Our grilse, however, were kelts, that is, had not run fresh from the sea, but had been kept in the river all winter, owing to the closing of the cruives which had prevented their making their way to the ocean waters. We spent some hours on our way at Invershin upon the Oikel, conversing with Mr Young, who has the chief charge of the fisheries. Soon after our arrival here last night, we discovered a nest of the black- throated diver. I believe it had not been previously seen by any one, though the bird has been long known to breed in Britain. We took the eggs, for they sell in London for a guinea a-piece. There are an immense number of cuckoos hereabouts, so many that one sees them flying about from tree to tree, and the people tell us that they often find their eggs in the nests of small birds, particulary in that of the tit-lark. To-day Sir William and Mr Selby are going to try Loch Shin for the great loch trout; Dr Greville and myself try a smaller loch among the hills, and hope to find a few insects: we got Carabus clathratus here last year. Now, dearest wife, the party are all keen to be off, as we have breakfasted, and they are scolding me for writing. God bless you all!”

“Lairg, by Golspie,
‘3d June 1834.

“Although I have been disappointed in receiving my Saturday’s letter, which I fear has not been sent to the post-office in time for the north mail of that day. yet I shall not retaliate by allowing an opportunity likely to occur to-morrow to escape. I wrote to you on Saturday morning somewhat hurriedly, for we are generally all pent up in one little room about the size of my thumb, and our occupations are so various and so numerous, that I have scarcely time to collect my senses. The change of life is indeed great, and to a monomaniac like myself who requires some time to shift his ideas, the effect produced is like that of a waking or rather walking dream. Our chief object here was to fish Loch Shin for the great lake trout, and Loch Craggie for another kind, remarkable for beauty of shape and colour and excellence of condition for the purposes of the table. In Loch Shin we have not done much, but in the other loch we have been extremely successful. Selby has made a drawing of one which I killed, a very fine fellow, weighing two pounds and a-half. While fishing Loch Craggie on Saturday, I found a nest of the black-throated diver. The parents made off when they saw me wading towards their little isle, but they left behind them two little black powder-puffs, about the size of your hand, which fuffed and bit at me when I came near them. One of them got among the rushes and tried to dive, but it would not do. I took them in my hand, and immediately heard the parents uttering wild cries of anger and anxiety; so I laid them down and went to the other side of the loch, that their wild though sweet home might not be disturbed. The loch is a little one among the hills, with a good sprinkling of natural birch wood at one end. We fished it last year, though unsuccessfully, owing to the violence of the wind On Monday, we started again for Loch Craggie, Sir William and Selby each armed with their fowling pieces, and much excited by my account of the divers and their woolly young ones. Alas, for sentiment in the hands or hearts of those ruthless destroyers! When I thought of the happy moonlight nights, the bright mornings, the gorgeous sunsets, the balmy twilights which these magnificent birds had enjoyed together, and how little they had dreamed that their wild solitudes, environed by crags and almost covered with water, should be invaded by the authors of ‘Ornithology Made Easy,’ I almost regretted for the time that I had betrayed their secret. But knowing that Sir William an 1 Mr Selby had spent the greater part of Saturday in a vain attempt to obtain a pair which they had discovered on Loch Shin, I thought it wrong to conceal an ornithological fact of such importance. So I directed them to the island where I knew the birds would be, and the consequences may be supposed. They crept towards the spot, and the divers, less wary than usual, or at least less careful of themselves, from the strength of their parental affection, after swimming up the loch followed by one of the young ones, returned again in search of the other, and coming within range of the marksmen, were both shot dead, along with their little helpless child. I was at this time fishing at some distance, but when I came towards the island I found the gorgeous creatures which I had so lately seen so full of life and vigour, extended cold and stiff upon the shore. They are as large as geese, and are scarcely ever found in this country, except during severe winters. Their breeding places were previously unknown. That same day we discovered also two pair of widgeons, a bird, the summer haunts of which had not been ascertained. I killed fifteen very fine trouts, many of them two pounds weight, and several above it. As eating fish, they surpass any fresh-water fish, except salmon,

with which I am acquainted, and they enable us to fare sumptuously every day. We have lamb, good soup or broth, and roasted fowls, — the latter, however, evidently made of Indian rubber. We find our boat answer excellently; we took it up to Loch Craggie in a cart, and. brought it down again in the evening without any trouble.”

“Tongue, Sth June 1834.

....” First, let me say that I bad great delight in receiving your Saturday’s letter at Lairg on Thursday afternoon. I found I could not enjoy myself till I heard from home, and the rest of the party had no objection to wait till the Thursday’s post from Golspie came in Except the slaughter of the black-throated divers, and the discovery of the widgeons’ nests, nothing particular occurred at Lairs;. We dissected the trouts of Loch Crau’gie, and took notes of their structure, &c. In Loch Shin we caught some of the young of the great loch trout, or iStiimoferox, and popjped them into a barrel of whisky, which we carry with us for that purpose. If you were a sportswoman, I could fill a hundred letters with details touching our capture of the finny race; but I fear such matters would be tedious.

We have already taken several specimens of Carabus clathratus and glabratus, and other good insects. I have occasionally found the fatigue of the business considerable, the more especially as I had bee:i somewhat sedentary for several months at home; but I think I am improving in strength every day, and I have already got a new skin to one of my hands, and to half of my nose. By the time I get as far as Mrs Scobie’s I expect to be as brown as Bacchus and as strong as Hercules. Sir William is most assiduous, and, indeed, the whole party are very active, and in constant occupation, sketching, collecting, angling, dissecting, eating, and sometimes — sleeping. I fear I am the only dreamer among them; and there are here but too many gray stones to sit upon : —

‘I look round on my mother earth,
As if she for no purpose bore me;
As if I were her first-born birth,
And none had lived before me.’

But then comes the thought — the happy thought, that I am not now as I once was, or, at least, deemed myself to be, when wandering of old among bleak moors and desolate mountains, a thing forgotten, or, if remembered, but to be despised. I now feel assured, and grateful in the assurance, that there are some to whom my happiness is dear, who rejoice in my joys and sympathise in my sorrows, and who would not yet that I should cease to be. Wife and children! What strange words these seem to be when I think of my former self, when too often my only thought was but to creep into a hole and die. But what would I not now undertake to promote their comfort and prosperity. Alas! how little can I do. I may, however, assuredly, more earnestly and continually, thank God for surrounding me with so many blessings; and I hope even yet in some measure to redeem what has so often been but a feeble and erring life. The All-seeing Eye alone can perceive the causes of excuse; but then, life’s fever and the great fountain. ] 73

that same Eye, how many million faults does it not mark, for ever unperceived by mortal vision! Perhaps it would be well to think, not that our fellow-mortals are often incapable of appreciating our meritorious struggles and resistances to sin, but that they still oftener are unable to detect our rebellious and unchristian thoughts. Yet we often think ourselves martyrs when God is not in all our thoughts; and, execrating the consuming fever of our thirst, we pass unheeded the Fountain of living waters. I find I must close for the present. I shall add a few lines before sealing up.

“Monday, 9th June.” I was interrupted yesterday by the party insisting that I should turn out and join them in a walk. We ascended the hill above Tongue, and enjoyed a magnificent and farextended view of sea and land. To the west, Ben Hope, and the other great mountains of Sutherland, their summits partly enveloped in clouds; to the east, a great part of Caithness lay in barren blackness; and to the north, a vast expanse of calm but heaving waters of the ocean lay between us and the distant Orkney Islands, which were distinctly visible in the distance, with spots of snow upon their solemn but serene, summits. Immediately beneath our feet was the Kyle of Tongue, a salt-water loch of great beauty when the tide is in, and the swelling waters come close upon the green pastures and straggling birch woods of the indented shore. The coast in general was bold and rocky, with fine headlands running into the sea, and between them little quiet bays of golden sand, with here and there a cottage on a cliff, or a few fishing-boats floating in their then peaceful havens, or drawn ashore upon the safer beach. But it was easy to see how, on the approach of the ambiguous autumn, or when the raging tempests of winter were let fairly loose, what a dread turmoil would take place in all those narrow channels, and how the tyrannous ocean would war and chafe against that iron-bound shore.

“On leaving Lairg, on Thursday, we travelled in our boat as far as Altnaliarrow, a poor, smoky, forlorn place, which pretends to be an inn. We stayed there two nights and one clay, all sleeping on the same floor. We then fished Loch Naver (in which I killed a good salmon) and some other lochs. Sir William got a black water-rat, the same as that variety found near Aberdeen, and which some think a new species. Leaving Altnaharrow on Saturday morning, we travelled partly in our boat and partly on foot, fishing such lochs as lay in our way, and reached Tongue about seven to dinner. It is a most comfortable place. I have a little spare room to myself; and the feeding is excellent. The scenery is so fine that we shall stay a day or two, particularly to ascend Ben Loyal, a fine mountain, close at hand. We have also to fish Loch Loyal, &c.

“Monday Evening.

“We have just returned from the top of Loch Loyal, after nine hours pretty hard walking. The toil, as Selby’s butler remarked, was ’ amply repaid ’ by the view. The said butler is a fine, fat, good-humoured Englishman, with a great turn for geography and natural history. He

and T are great friends. The post has come in since

we returned from our walk; and I am very thankful for

dear H ’s letter, though it is but of a mingled yarn.

I fear you have been far from well; but I hope and pray that ere now the enemy is gone, and that this letter will at last find you at the Hill. Give my most affectionate regards to all,”

“Tongue, 11 th June 1834.” We have been very comfortably quartered here since Saturday afternoon, and have done a good deal of business. Yesterday, besides killing ten or twelve dozen of fine lake trout, we captured two specimens of Scdmo ferox, or great loch trout of the Highlands. They were youngones; but each weighed between five and six pounds. They had never been killed with the rod in this part of the country before, although their existence was well known, as they are seen at the mouths of the burns about spawning time, and are said to attain to the weight of eighteen or twenty pounds.

“I mentioned in my Inst letter that we had ascended Ben Loyal, as it is called (it is spelt Layghal). It was a heavy pull, being very steep and about three thousand feet high — a respectable mountain when you consider that the ocean waters lave its base, and that consequently it does not rise, as many others do, from an elevated plain. There are some tremendous precipices on its sides, where eagles build, ’ and ravens spread their plumy vans at ease,’ and on the summit are several large lumps of rock, each about as large as St George’s Church. I took five specimens of Carabus glahratus, during the ascent, and found several specimens of a small Golymbetes in pools of rain water on the very summit. I also caught a large and beautiful barred Musca, but he escaped through the flappers.

“The chief ornithological feature of this neighbourhood, is the immense number of thrushes which inhabit the little birch woods, and render musical the else silent and solitary valleys. To-day when I was catching insects, a beautiful robin came and watched me with curious eye, and seemed to take me for some large mysterious bird. I also saw a sweet little gold-finch preening himself upon a birken spray, and in the uplands you cannot walk a hundred yards without a pair of golden plovers flying around you, and uttering their wild and wayward cries. Waders and water-fowl are numerous, and we yesterday found a widgeon’s nest with six eggs, which we harriedy seeing that the breeding of that species in Britain was unknown. This quarter of the island seems, in fact, to be the great breeding quarters of many of those bLfds which visit the southern districts only during winter. We this morning dissected one of the large trouts, measured his guts, counted his teeth, and compared his intf rnals with those of the common species. Selby made a portrait in oils of the other. Tor a day or two among the birch woods, we have been catching specimens of a very large hymenopterous insect, allied to Tenthreclo, but with knobbed antennas. He is as big as Sirex gigas, thicker but not quite so long. I know the genus, though, as usual, I forget his name. Sir William is off this morning to a marsh among the mountains, where it is reported by one of the Duke’s gamekeepers who has been deputed to attend us, that a small species of snipe, called the Jack-snipe, builds its nest. It is not yet known as a British builder. We have had a couple of eagles eggs’ brought to us just now. But I must stop for the present; we leave Tongue to-morrow. Good bye.”

“Eribol, 12th June.

“We left Tongue this morning in our carriage, but were

long impeded in our progress by a short frith or ferry,

called the Kyle of Tongue; which, under ordinary ircumstances, we might almost have swam across, but the ferry-M boats were small, and our carriage rather lengthy, and we had a kittle job in getting it shipped We had to unpack all the things from the boat, to lift the boat from its wheels, and after launching it on the salt water, to tie it to the hinder end or stern of the ferry-boat. We then contrived, by means of large planks, to run the wheels into the said ferry-boat. There had not been so much to do at Tongue for many a-day. These matters kept us till the day was far advanced, although, as usual, we had breakfasted early. After passing the ferry, our route lay along the desolate moor of Morn, a tract almost impassable before the making of the present road. However, it does not extend far, and about half-way there is a hut or house of refuge for the destitute. I met a messenger who inquired for ’ yin Mr Wilson.’ I pled guilty to being that obnoxious individual, and was immediately presented with a letter, which I found to be from Mrs Scobie, who had just heard of our having entered Lord Reay’s country, and hastened to request that whenever it was convenient, all of us would make her house our home. In fact, we could hardly have managed to see that part of the country again without doing so, but it was particularly pleasant to be met with such frank and open hospitality. On crossing the moor of Moin we came to Hope Ferry, at the foot of Loch Hope. By this time, however, the ’ sky lowered and muttered thunder,’ and the rain was falling in torrents. We were not sure how the fishing in the Hope would do, and there were rather too many of us to remain at the Ferry, so we drove on a few miles further to the house where we now are, on the shores of Loch Eribol. We were very wet when we arrived, but peat fires were soon blazing in all quarters, and articles

which Mrs would have died sooner than have

named, were speedily produced and jumped into. Oh, what a scene is a regular shifting in a Highland inn after a soaking day! We had a good dinner of its kind, and soon after a few cups of tea, and we are now all occupied in our various pursuits.

“We retrace our steps a mile or two to-morrow, to try the fishing in the river Hope.”

“Keoldale, 18th June 1834.” I have just heard of an opportunity of sending off a few lines this evening, so I embraced it to tell you how comfortable we have been here for some days. We arrived on Saturday night and this is Wednesday afternoon. The party have been pretty active on the whole, although the substantial cheer and cheerful converse of the evening somewhat interfere with the sticking of our beetles and other important operations. The morning dram is a source of great merriment among the majority, although the Doctor, as in duty bound, does not fail to protest against such an abuse.

“On Monday we drove to a celebrated natural excavation in the limestone rock along the shore, called the Smoo cavern. There is a river, a short way up the country, which jumps clown a big hole in the earth with a horrible roar, and after rumbling and tumbling about in darkness for some time, nobody knows where, it comes rolling out of a recess in the inside of the Smoo cave, through which it meanders, and flowing gently along, it seeks the daylight, and then rolls into the sea. Now the cave itself is like a great cathedral supported by natural pillars. Its vast recesses are at first dim and mystical, but as the eye begins to discern the great projections of the fretted roof, it also perceives that that roof is gorgeously adorned with many and various hues of green and orange, and brown and blue, arising from the quantity of moss and lichens with which the rocks, themselves of richest colours, are adorned. From the interior, looking eastward, there is a. fine ocean view, the sparkling waves contrasting finely with the blackness of the cavern roof, which seems to span the heavens as with an arch. Several sketches were taken of this truly singular scene, which, however rude and imperfect, when compared with the ‘dread magnificence ‘of nature, may vet serve to convey to you some feeble notion of its character.

“On Tuesday morning we paid our respects at the manse, where we saw the marks left by the lightning that entered the room and broke all the windows last winter.

“By the by. on the preceding evening, we set a net on one of the lakes, to ascertain the truth of the reported existence of Char, and next morning we found half-a-dozen entangled in the meshes. We drew and dissected one, and put the remainder into spirits. After calling at the manse yesterday, we proceeded to Far-out Head, a high and rocky promontory. The coa st view was very fine, and we caught some good insects; but as the minister was to dine with us, we returned without finishing our exploration. We renewed our visit to-day, and found two fine eagles resting on the promontory. I am sorry to add that during these last two days I have been so annoyed by rheumatism in my left shoulder, and up the same side of my neck, as to be unable to handle my rod. We leave this for Scourie to-morrow at five in the morning; at present it is almost light here all night. Excuse haste, for Mrs Scobie’s messenger waits. Oh for my letters at Inchnadamff, where I hope we shall be by Saturday night,”

“Inchnadamff, 2ith June 1834. “We reached this much-wished-for haven only last night (Monday), and I was at first sorely disappointed by finding nothing but an old newspaper and a letter from worthy Captain Graham. I was soon after so far relieved by Sir W. Jardine opening a parcel and handing out a letter for me in your hand, which you may suppose I was not long in devouring. Its date, however, was not very recent (the 14th), and being written in bed, gave no very strong assurance of your being as I have so often prayed you might be. But a few minutes after our arrival, the post came in and brought me a delightful

bundle, among which yours of the 20th, 21st, and H ’s

of the 1 9th, were singled out and eaten. Of all things be sure to be as much in the open air as possible, that you may have a proper pennyworth of your native air, and that I may have the happiness of finding you on my return as strong as an American turkey

“We begin work generally about half-past five in the morning, and seldom finish till the commencement of the ensuing day, so that we have seldom less than sixteen hours’ labour of one kind or another, although it is varied in such a way as greatly to lessen the fatigue.

“We left good Mrs Scobie’s on Thursday last, at an early hour. We had a long day’s journey to Scourie, nearly thirty miles. We sat, however, very comfortably in our boat, taking a walk of a mile or two now and then when the ground was hilly, which was a relief both to ourselves and horses, particularly the latter. The road was excellent — thanks to that great highwayman, the late Duke of Sutherland — although the country through which it lay was for the most part very bare and desolate, the hills low and craggy, with their intermediate valleys filled up with innumerable small lochs (liker ponds than lakes), commonly so called. There were, however, some fine mountain ranges within view. It was latish in the evening before we reached Scourie, where, as the landlady was aware of our intended arrival, we found everything in very good order, with each a separate bed. On Friday and Saturday we drove back each day about six or seven miles of the road by which we had arrived, as far as Laxford Bridge, where there is excellent fishing. Our carriage and horses waited for us at a shepherd’s hut, and then we drove back to Scourie to a late evening dinner, cakes and milk being attainable in the meantime by such as wished them. For myself, I was net in fishing order, on account of the rheumatism in my arm and shoulder, but I tried to be useful to the others, and contrived to pick up a few insects. I am now almost entirely free from pain. We enjoyed some very striking views by ascending a mountain, or at least a part of it, called Stack, not far from Laxford. We were at one time entirely enveloped in clouds, but still kept creeping along the mountain side, when suddenly the clouds dispersed, or at least opened wide their aerial windows, and shewed us a beautiful valley well clothed with birch woods, with a far-spreading lake in the distance. At the same moment a magnificent rainbow spanned the valley from side to side, and as the clouds rolled along we saw from

18-i THE MOORS AND THE MOUNTAINS.

time to time gigantic crags above our heads, or in the opposite distance the gray and sterile summits of lofty mountains. No vestige, however, of human dwelling was within our view, nor anything to remind us that this earth was the abode of other beings than ourselves.”

“Inchnadamff, 27th June 1834.

“I again indulge myself by writing a few lines, as there is a post to-morrow morning from this to Golspie. As there is also an end to all human undertakings, our various exertions in this quarter are now drawing to a close. We propose proceeding southwards on Monday morning, but I fear we must for some time travel slowly, as our cattle have a considerable weight to draw.

“It does not appear that we can proceed from Dingwall through Ross-shire without taking longer time than we can afford, and it is therefore probable that we shall go from Dingwall to Inverness. From the latter place, however, we feel averse to return, per coach, by the Highland road, exactly as we came, and wre therefore hope to dispose of our cattle, and then proceed by the Caledonian Canal, Loch Ness, &c, to Fort- William, and from thence by Ballahulish, Dalnially, Killin, &c, down to Perth or Stirling, and then home. Oh, how my heart beats at the thought of my return! I have had a considerable degree of enjoyment, and any want of it has been entirely my own fault, for everything has been pleasant in itself and prosperous. But you know I left home without exactly feeling satisfied that I ought to have done so. I had no desire to go, and none of that buoyant anticipation of enjoyment which, in glorious youth, is wont to attend as the forerunner of such excursions. Some sensations of mental discomfort have accompanied me all along, with a consciousness, as it were, that I am acting selfishly in making the journey, when the money might have been better spent in ministering to your enjoyments at home. But I hope, by some degree of diligence and activity, to make amends on my return. Alas! what a sad reckoning is uow against me for indolence, idleness, and mis-spent time. I know, however, that if I had given up this expedition, it would have vexed you, and although my doing so would have been no disappointment to myself, it might yet have affected or interfered with the arrangements of others. But I hope not to be so long from home again for many

a day I fear, however, that I” am »ot telling you

much of what we have been doing here. In fact, owing to the broken weather, we have not been doing very much for some clays. Yesterday morning, Colonel Oswald, who has the salmon fishing on the In ver this year, breakfasted with us, on his way to Laxford. We afterwards fished a mountain loch, where we found the fish very fat, and of delicious flavour. We found their interior crammed full of screws, or fresh-water shrimps, the beasts you may sometimes see in your ewer of a morning. The day, however, soon grew wet and windy, and I could not see without my spectacles, and still less with them. Yet I contrived to capture nine specimens of Carabus glabratus. To-day we fished some other lochs, but not very successfully, except as to smallish trouts, which we now despise. The ministers are beginning to be poured into the country along with the rains; to-day I found no less than three on the moors, so we shall no doubt have sermon on Sabbath. Now good-bye, for, as usual, I find that it is to-morrow morning. I think you had better tell the gardener to try a small sowing in patches of mignonette and sweet peas, that we may have an autumnal crop. You know how I love the autumn.”

“Inchnadamff, 29th June 1834.

“My dear Daughter, — This is a beautiful Sunday evening. All my friends have gone out to take a walk; so J think I shall write you a letter. I am sitting upstairs at a little window, so small that I can scarcely get my head and shoulders out of it; but when I do take a peep, there is a long bright lake stretching away to the west for many miles, with high bare mountains on every side. Ben More, the highest hill in Sutherland, is just 1 -eland the house. It is composed of what is called mountain limestone, and is so bare and craggy on its sides and summit for many thousand acres, that there is scarcely even a blade of grass or a bunch of heather to be seen. Yet there are sweet little birds chirping and singing among the rocks, and just as merry as if they were hopping among the beautiful bushes at Corstorphine Hill. God, who takes care of all His creatures, has given them happy hearts; and I suppose there is little sorrow where there is no sin.

“This is a very wild country. I have sometimes travelled through it for a whole dav without seeing a single house, or meeting with a single human being. There were many more people in it formerly; but, a good many years ago, the Countess of Sutherland, to whom it all belongs, was advised to tell all the cottagers and other poor people who lived in the valleys and on the sides of the hills, to go away down to the sea-shore, and become fishermen, that she might let all the land to rich English farmers, who, she was told, would give her far more money. But the people, some of whom were very old, and all of whom loved the little sheltered spots where their fathers and grandfathers had lived for hundreds of years before them, did not wish to live by the sea-shore all together, in little dirty streets, and to learn to fish. They were not afraid of the sea; because the mountain shepherds are just as brave as sailors; and often in the stormy nights of winter, when the wind is howling among the wild rocks, and the snow is drifting about and covering over everything with which they are acquainted, or might be able to mark their way home, they are obliged to go out and look after their flocks, and see that they have not tumbled into the deep holes which are so common among limestone rocks. But they thought it unkind to be asked to leave their ancient homes by these they had often served and defended; for during the war with the French, hundreds of all the strongest men sometimes joined together under the command of some chieftain whom they loved, and went abroad and fought, ’ and spilt their blood like water;’ but never thought that, after being worn out with their wounds, and coming home to end their days in peace, they would all be sent away to catch cod and haddocks. So, you see, instead of fishing by the sea- shore, almost the whole of them went away to America, where many of them, with their sons and daughters, are living to this day. It is very true that those to whom the land belongs now get more money from the new comers; but if God saw fit to allow another Bonaparte to rise up among the French, who was determined to conquer all other countries, then it would be very difficult to get such brave men as once dwelt in Sutherland, but are now dwelling by the banks of the great rivers of America. I think, if I had thousands of people under me, I would rather try to make them good and happy, than drive them away to foreign lands. I think the people here are mostly good. I had not seen many of them till to-day; but the few that remain came over the hills from all quarters to church, and seemed very serious and devout. I sat in the minister’s seat, with his wife and two children, and another lady. It was a warm day, and the children began to be very sleepy, poor things. So the lady, who, I suppose, was ashamed of them before strangers, every now and then gave them a little shake. One of them had golden curly hair, and its head shone and glittered in the sunbeams every time that it was shooken. The mother tried another plan, and gave them each a bit of sea-biscuit. This did very well for a little; but as soon as the biscuit was done, they fell fast asleep, and nobody disturbed them any more. I confess I was a little sleepy myself at one time; but I bit my tongue, and kept my eyes staring wide; for I was rather afraid that the minister’s wife’s sister would give me a shake, just as she had the minister’s wife’s sons. The church is the smallest church you ever saw, not nearly so high as the -table at Woodville, and very little longer; bat I doubt not that the prayers of pious Christians ascend as directly to their heavenly Father from that lowly dwelling as from the proudest cathedral. I will not be very long away now. We leave this

to-morrow; but rill we get to Inverness, we must travel slowly, for our boat-carriage is very heavy when we are all in it. I expect that everything at Woodville and the Hill will be looking beautiful when I come back. How thankful we ought to be to God for our sweet, happy homes! May God bless my darling daughter, is ever the prayer of your affectionate father.”